


His Sunshine (Inspired by sidgurdjarlson)

by LaughingMcNugget



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Drug Use, Grief, Mentions of violent imagery, Mourning, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-01
Updated: 2016-02-01
Packaged: 2018-05-17 15:19:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5875894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaughingMcNugget/pseuds/LaughingMcNugget
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A sleepily written drabble based on a tumblr textpost by one of my favorite sinners.</p>
            </blockquote>





	His Sunshine (Inspired by sidgurdjarlson)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sidgurdjarlson](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Sidgurdjarlson).



It wasn’t uncommon to see the ghoul, draped in his red coat, hat in his lap, arms resting on the stone and chin in the crooks of his elbows. To see him up on the crest of Vault 111’s hill at the late hours of the night, chest heaving and lips curling in anguish. He’d slept there almost every night. This was how he’d always slept with them, and that wouldn’t change because-

  
This is how he’d always slept with them. Arms around them, chin resting on their shoulder, halfway laying on top of their body.

  
“Stop it John-!” they’d laugh the most goddamn beautiful laugh, even when it was punctuated with that little snort at the end “You’re squishing me!”

He’d always find himself being rolled over, and ending up as the pillow himself sometime in the night. How they found his scarred and skinny body comfortable against their face, hell, how they found him worthy to lay on, was still a mystery to him. Didn’t mean it had to change. The ghoul gripped the edge of the stone, the sharp carved points digging into the grooves of his fingertips. He’d stick his hands in radioactive waste at this point, just to feel something, anything under his fingers like the way he used to feel them when they were-  
They were so perfect to touch, somehow they were always cool against his irradiated body, even though they always complained about being hot while wearing nothing but the sheets on their bed. He’d never gotten tired of touching them like they said he would, too used to his old life, they’d said. Worried about his past like he’d cheat on them. A little bit of him burned at the accusation, but he knew they’d trusted him after the first night in his arms. The ghoul brushed his cheek against the stone, hoping he’d hear that little purr they’d make in the back of their throat when he’d brush against him like the alley cat he was.

He remembered the first time they made that comparison “You’re just as scrappy as an alley cat, aren’t you?”

  
He’d been relaxing against a wall, not quite metaphorically licking his wounds after a brawl with some ferals. As such, he was drugged with med-ex, to take away the sting of their claws.

  
“Oh my God, I love cats. Where is it?”

  
Naturally he didn’t remember any of this, and he’d only been told the story when they gifted him the ugliest damn kitten he’d ever seen. Hardly any fur on the skinny little thing, they told him that some sick people had lit it on fire. As such, he’d named it Blaze, and that thing was stuck to him like ugly on… well himself. He remembered when Blaze struck out one night, prowling about the neighborhood on hunt for some - _heh_ \- pussy. They’d thought that joke was terrible when he told it, but they still laughed that perfect and snort-y laugh. He’d have tried to fight the sun if it would have made them laugh.

  
“Oh sunshine.”

  
He bitterly chuckled against the cool surface of the stone, praying that maybe he’d hear them, maybe they’d laugh or snort, call him that old nickname he hadn’t heard since they-

  
Or just to hear them sing one last time.  
He remembered that one bad trip, even high there are some things you don’t forget, and he remembered this one vividly. These big, gaping claws made from the lines in the woodwork. Every little nail in the wall an eye watching him and the couch, god, the couch was a big red throat waiting to swallow him whole. He remembered them swinging in the closet door when they finally found where he was hiding, him wide eyed and shivering. He’d screamed when he saw them at first, they’d become the thing he’d feared most. They were them, but pale and ridged and-

  
But they weren’t, they were soft and loving, and they held him while he shook. He’d never touched that experimental recipe for concentrated mentat-snuff again. They slept in the closet that night, and he woke up to fluttering kisses against his jaw. That was a great morning, even if the nail-eyes still watched him.  
“let ‘em stare.” He’d said, a bit of bravado returning to his voice.  
He’d laughed at his own words, but fell silent when he heard that song flit around him. Maybe it was the high, maybe it was the lack of good sleep, but maybe their voice had really made lights flicker to life from nowhere and make swirls of baby pink and yellow dance around the little closet they were sitting in. With how damned beautiful it sounded, he might not have been too skeptical of the latter. It was funny how the lights trailed the shapes of hearts across his vision, but he knew he was high off the terrible mentat-snuff, and them. They were his favorite drug. He’d listen to that voice for the rest of his life if he could have, if they hadn’t-

  
Hancock laid against the stone, hands drifting up and down the cool sides, cheek pressed against the carvings. Their name, chipped laboriously into the stone. He’d recalled how dull his favorite knife was after he’d finished it, but it was okay, as it was going in with them. There was a moment where the familiar weight of his weapon of choice, or the lack thereof, pressed down on him, forcing him to lay flat on the ground, forcing him to take fistfuls of the dead earth, forcing him to wail their name because they were-

  
They were gone, and he’d wanted them back more than anything. Just their heart, the only damned heart he’d wanted. Maybe their arms to keep him safe from this mess of a world. Their lips so he could hear them laugh, them say his name. To hear them sing that song one last time.  
The sound rose in his throat before he could stop it, something shrill and unlike his usually calm self.

  
“Sunshine!” he remembered that was his reaction, just their nickname, just one last word.  
He’d seen them fall, that errant bullet, that result of poor aim from that fucking minigun-mad-vertibird-knight making their chest spray baby pink against the sunset’s yellow glow.

Why pink, why yellow.

Why tarnish the some of the best memories he had.

Why take his sunshine away.

Why.

Why.

  
He’d torn up clumps of dirt, claw marks and pocks in the ground wherever his fists struck, mud forming against his cheek at the onslaught of tears. He flipped onto his back, a pained scream making his shoulders arch and eyes clamp shut. He’d tasted blood as the scream died down, apparently tearing his vocal cords, again. For someone who had once loved to talk, he’d nearly made himself mute more than once. Not like he cared anymore. Not like he really wanted to talk to anyone but them. He sat up, chest heaving, and red coat nearly brown from scrounging in the dirt. Their name was scrawled shittily on the stone, carved by his own hand when he could barely see past the tears. Right under their name, he’d chipped in the words “Sunshine of my life.”

  
“Sunshine why, why did-“ he’d hacked on his own breath “Why did you have to-!?”

  
He scrambled on all fours in the dirt, hands roaming over the stone, searching for their hands to hold, for their lips to kiss. For something. For anything. But they weren’t there they were buried 5 feet under where he knelt, peaceful and lovely as they could have been.  
He’d been at this for months, getting high when he’d wake up, hazing through the day as though there was nothing but him laying on the commons couch in Sanctuary, and every night sleeping on the hill beside them. It still hurt the same every night. Every night he’d recant their life together; like the time they’d tripped over a tincan and reached for his hand in panic, only ending up dragging them to the ground with them. He’d kissed them there for the first time, laying in the filthy alley, not a care in the world. Sometimes he’d toss a tincan in front of them, and make a lewd grin at them when they reflexively stepped over it. His thumbs traced a crudely stitched patch over the top of his hat, remembering that they’d only barely yanked him down in time to prevent the bullet from splattering his brains on the pavement. They’d been pinned after that, and had to retreat into an abandoned house once it got dark. They set up tincan chimes and mines around every entrance to the area, and then off all things, they bundled the ghoul in their arms and kissed him raw. That night was the first time they made love to each other, and he’d be a liar if he said he’d not been hoping it would happen. Maybe not under the threat of death from a sniper’s shot, but he wasn’t picky. He’d have taken them on the tarmac of the damned airport if they wanted him to.

  
“Oh sunshine…” Hancock sniffled, hands resigning to holding one another, forehead against the cool stone “You…”

  
He let out a deep breath, black eyes wet and watery, trying to blink away tears.

  
“Are my sunshine-“ he’d never sounded as good as them “-My only sunshine-“ but then again, nobody ever did.

  
“You make me happy-“ there was no joy left without them around “When skies are grey-“ they’d loved the sound of rain, and he’d loved the sound of them.

  
“You’ll never know dear-“ he could have never told them enough “-How much I love you-“ more than anything, more than anything dammit! No!

  
“Please-“ he shuttered, a sob breaking the rasped song “P-please-“ he’d sung for them every night, like they did for him.

  
“Don’t take my sunshine-“ a sigh left his thin lips, what would be his brows furrowing, fingers tracing their name “-Away.”

  
He could almost hear them, almost swearing he saw the pink and yellow lights tracing hearts in his vision again. The damned drugs always had a cruel sense of humor.

  
“The other day dear-“ the wind was their breath “As I lay sleeping-“ the trees their tongue.

  
Branches swayed back and forth, rocking as though they danced “I dreamed I held you in my arms.”

  
His head was heavy against the stone.  
“When I awoke dear-“ god he could feel their hand on his shoulder “I was mistaken-“ he didn’t know why he turned around.

  
“so I hung my head and I cried.”

And so he did.

 


End file.
